I was Just Thirteen

by Rachel Weiser-Nagel

When the war broke out we fled to the village of Bagatella where we had many
friends - the village-head among the rest. A few days later he told us to
leave explaining that such were the orders he had received from the Germans,
who had threatened to revenge on anybody would contravene - and that included
his family, too. It was on Sabbath-Eve. Everything was ready to receive the
holy day and the table was laid. We had to leave all this behind and went back
to Rozhan, where we stayed for another few weeks. Those were dark days. Jews
were walking about sullenly and downcast. Everyday the men had to go out to
forced labor and you could never be sure of coming home safely.

One day ten Jews were to work and in the evening they were told to come back
next day and woe to them if any of them were missing or exchanged for somebody
else. One of them, however, broke down. He feared the heavy work more than
death and also shirked responsibility towards the rest. So he disguised
himself as a woman and slipped off to Makov. My uncle David Wolensky
volunteered to go instead of the runaway and so the nine others were saved.

At the same time another group was made to build fortifications. The murderers
killed Shmuel from the oil-mill while he was working. We were bewildered and
felt helpless. One of the "good" Germans advised us to try to get
away: "There'll be no life for you here." So we moved to Makov, but
couldn't stay there either. The priest, one of the honest Gentiles, bribed the
Nazis in order to make them let the Jews alone. They agreed on the condition
that strangers who had arrived as refugees leave the town. So we had to clear
out in all haste and come back to Rozhan. We stayed overnight with a Gentile
woman, called Brengoshova, whose son was known as a rabid Jew-hater and had
become infamous for his cruelty to the Jews of Rozhan and the vicinity, when
the Germans occupied the town. Yet, oh wonders! It was his mother who took
good care of us that night, in the teeth of her son's resistance. More than
that; at her behest he went out to see that there were no Germans around so I
might go and save something from our old home. I arrived there under his
protection but found it destroyed. So I returned to the Brengoshova, where we
also found the Greenwalds and my aunt Rebecca and her children. We understood
that we had to move as soon as possible. Mother went to the market to buy some
food for us and for the rest, but one Polish woman hit her over the head and
shouted: "How dare you show your face here and buy things that are for
Christians?" So that mother could buy nothing.

We went to Dlugoshlodlo and near the road we found corpses of Jews who had just
been murdered and who were still bleeding. We slipped away to Govorovo. There
we found a wooden shack at some distance from the town and hid in it. We hoped
to rest after the tiresome journey, but very soon I felt like choked. I rushed
out crying: "It's terribly hot in here!" We all rushed out and saw
that the shack was on fire. The Germans had found out and decided to deliver
us to certain death: to roast us in our hideout. So we ran into the open field
as best we could. They descried us, began to shout "Halt!" (Stop)
and showered us with bullets, one of which hit my uncle. We wanted to stop and
assist him but he only raised his head calling: "Run, children, Escape,
don't tarry." One of the Germans walked up, hit him over the head and
finished him off with the rifle butt, not to waste another bullet on him. Next
he turned on us. We saw that we couldn't get away, that he'd reach us, so we
came back to him, hugged him and kissed his uniform and entreated him to let us
live. Somehow he had pity on us and let us go. We couldn't go further and
spent the night in the field. Next morning aunt Chajtcha and somebody else
went to bury my uncle, in his clothes and in the very place where he had died.
They found on him a charity box, which he had saved, hoping in vain to carry it
to its destination.

When we reached Govorovo we were at once directed to the Market Square where
the inhabitants had been assembled. After a long while people were ordered to
gather at the places of worship: the Jews in the synagogue and the Christians
in their church. As we entered the building I could see many Jews lying on the
ground in the courtyard bleeding from severe wounds. It seems they had failed
to hurry while squeezing in and the German has shot them and left them where
they had fallen, some dead, some dying. I shall never forget that sight. Some
had been shot in their faces, blinded and gored with broken skulls, past
recognition.

Horrible beyond description was the sight of the girl whose belly had been torn
open so that her bowels were spread on the ground. There was also our neighbor
Judith Schreiber lying between the dead, wounded in her face, distorted and
writhing in pain. I saw more people of Rozhan who were no longer living:
Shlomo Zinamon, Shemlke Plotka - I do not remember all the names.

I have no remembrance of how I managed to squeeze in and get out again. When
all the Jews were inside, the Germans sprayed the synagogue with kerosene and
set it on fire. Suddenly, I felt as if dried up, choking and terribly thirsty.
I went for a drop of water from a pump in the courtyard with a little cup in
my hand. That very moment a car drew up and stopped. A short, rather fat
officer stepped out and asked: "What's the matter here?" Lower
ranked soldiers - his subordinates explained: "Here we can destroy all the
Jews at one stroke." He interrupted them and in a quiet, determined way
told them: "This is too much." He gave the order to open the doors
and shouted: "Out!"

Only one word but, it worked like magic. The Jews came pouring out, while the
walls were already on fire. Half-naked people bounded over each other - it had
been so hot inside that many had begun to pull their clothes off. At first
being outside, I didn't grasp what was happening. One of the Germans seized me
and tried to push me back, but was swept on by the crowd that was breaking out.

I was standing a little distance looking for somebody whom I knew. I saw my
father coming out of the door, running, while he held a Talith (prayer shawl)
in his hand. Everybody was running down to the river for some water. The
turmoil was terrific. Down there I searched for my parents, my family. I was
afraid - I had never entered the river alone, but now I had to cross it.
Instinctively I raised my braids over my head and managed to get across. My
parents were not there. I was running around like mad - like everybody else
and crying. One German soldier with a tender and merciful look on his face
approached me and tried to soothe me. He even offered me some food. But I
wouldn't take it. I was only looking for my parents and repeated my quest
again and again but in this he couldn't help me - nobody could. In the end we
found each other, the whole family and we returned to Rozhan - where else could
we go? We crossed the river in a boat and came back to Rozhan, which was in
ruins. We were not alone. A number of families with children joined us. On
the way we met some Germans who forced the Jews to cut off each other beards,
to dance and to sing. They also gathered the children together and made us
dance and sing. We sang, we danced, we cried, sobbed - and were afraid. For
some time they enjoyed themselves until tired of it they let us go. In fact
they did not set us free, but all of a sudden, we realized that they had gone.
So we went back to our parents and continued on our way. In Rozhan there was
no place where you could lay your head. So we left and turned to Kossov, where
the Jews received us with open arms in an unforgettable way. It was the
Sabbath, but everybody was eager to help: they brought us clothes and food.
The adults were given a place to sleep in the synagogue, while the children
were taken to different families and returned to their parents in the morning.
Next day we left these dear Jews of Kossov and went on to Bialystok, and from
there scattered all over the world. Some to Russia and to Siberia. We were
among the few who were rescued. But the great majority perished, the Jews of
Kossov among them - as the Germans were already entering their town, when we
left. My father died in Siberia, Meshullam Negal in Turkestan. They are both
buried in Jewish cemeteries. At the end of 1945 we arrived in Eretz-Israel.

[Page 43]

What I Remember

by David Prath

From Rozhan to the Hell of Ostrov
Three days before the war my regretted wife gave birth to our daughter - our
boy was 4 ½ years old at the time. I was then employed at the barracks of
the Polish army as a saddler, and was earning well. I had good reason to dream
of a rosy future: many children and a decent return for the handiwork I was
doing. In a word, I felt happy and the German bomb attacks, which came as a
surprise to the Polish state, shattered my life, too. I was awestricken and
bewildered.

We knew that Rozhan, as a fortified place, would be a target for bomb attacks
of the Germans who would first of all want to destroy the bridge over the river
Narew, to cut off the town and to vent their spleen on it without hindrance.

Therefore I decided to leave for Govorovo, but two days later firing started
there, and we continued our flight to Ostrov-Mazovietzk. There was panic, no
cart was to be hired and went on foot. The Germans spotted the refugees and
their planes pursued us. They were flying low and strafing us with the
machine-guns. We would run, drop to the ground each time a plane approached
and then continue to run. In this way we made 35 km. with the noise of planes
and the shrieking of the bullets over our heads all the time wearing us out.

When we reached Ostrov our baby seemed lifeless. We refused to accept the fact
and even with the primitive means at our disposal we succeeded in reviving her
and she lived on for a while under the Nazi terror. The Germans reached Ostrov
two or three days late and immediately began to hunt for men to work for them.
They behaved like dogcatchers. Two or three of them would assault a Jew in the
street and carry him off to a concentration point for slave laborers. The work
itself was of no importance to them. Their aim was to degrade us with the show
of their power. That's what gave them satisfaction and pleasure, and they
liked to take pictures of such "historic scenes" - the devil knows
what for?

As time went on they improved their methods. They would invade Jewish homes -
as Jews would no longer venture out into the streets - drag the men out
brutishly and force them to go to the appointed place, with hands raised.
There they would be kept for hours on end with their hands up. The process
would take hours. As a place of assembly they had chosen the courtyard of the
town hall. On the balcony a Nazi was standing, machine-gun in hand, watching
the Jews intently. Woe to the man who would let his hands down for a moment:
the culprit would be beaten mercilessly. That was the first day and we were
afraid that they had gathered us here to liquidate us. When after hours of
this ordeal, we were permitted to sit down, we felt better; yet there were more
hours of anxious, nerve-wracking expectation. In the end two Germans appeared
on the balcony and one of them explained that from now on no Jew would be
allowed to be in the streets after 5. Trespassers would be shot on the spot.
Windows in Jewish houses must be darkened any crack of light would be fired
into. It was forbidden to assault any German and Jews had to salute Germans
they met by taking off their hats.

After this "illuminating" speech we were told to go home. The hour
was already half past five, when any Jew was liable to be shot without warning.
People began to run like mad for their houses. We were thousands of refugees
from many places, running, pushing, stumbling, falling down while the shots
were ringing, some to frighten us and some to kill. As it happened we
encountered a column of Nazis who began to hit us with their rifle-butts over
the head and over the most sensitive parts of the body. When we got some
distance away from them, they began to fire indiscriminately. I ran and hid in
a courtyard where many Jewish victims had gathered. I didn't know the place
and it was already dark and cold and I stayed hidden there all night. In the
early morning I ran back to my family and before long I knew who were the dead
in the courtyard where I had been hiding. Soon I heard of additional victims
and I saw myself how they entered a bakery and murdered the baker's son. After
a short while we were again called up for forced labor under the same
circumstances: "Hands up! Walk! Run!" Vexation at work, scorn and
photos to commemorate the event.

To Vilna via Zambrov

It was now the time of the High Holidays. We arranged for a Minyan (10 people)
in my uncle's house and prayed. We knew we were risking death in doing so, but
we felt a vital need for it. It was like the remnant of our self-respect, of
our will power. We posted a guard outside to warn us of any approaching danger
and prayed.

Two more weeks passed and in the streets appeared posters of the kind which
later on made you shiver in your bones. They said: "All refugees who do
not belong to the original inhabitants of Ostrov, must leave within 24 hours!
Contravention to be punished by death on the spot!" Together with my
father (of blessed memory) I ran to find a cart, in order to save what might be
saved. On the Russian side we found a Gentile who was ready to come, stay
overnight and next morning carry our belongings over the borderline. It was
agreed that he stay with us, but at four in the afternoon he had second
thoughts about the arrangements and we had to leave at once, as he demanded. I
had some difficulty in persuading my father that the earlier the better. He
worried about our younger brother, who was at forced labor outside town. My
mother, who had a permit, ran to his working place to hurry his arrival and as
soon as he turned up we set out. It was already late afternoon, when we left
and reached the Russian side at a few km. from Zambrov.

Compared with the German soldiers with their shining uniforms, the Russian
soldiers looked rather poorly dressed. They were a depressing sight and I
began to doubt the solidity of their system. We did not want to stay near the
place where the Nazis had humiliated and tortured us and went on to Zambrov. A
Jewish tailor took us into his house; otherwise we would have found it hard to
find shelter, as we were in fact two families: my parents together with my
brother and two sisters and my own family.

The atmosphere in town was gloomy and frightening. People had no hopes and
tomorrow's portents overshadowed everything. On top of all this, the Jewish
authorities were entirely different from what we had witnessed at Ostrov. Here
the heads of the community had become giddy with their power. We decided to
leave Zambrov behind, too, and to go to Vilna, where we had a brother and the
Russian administration was stable and orderly. Rumor had it, that the
authorities there were more liberal and that ways to the outside world might be
found.

We travelled by way of Bialystok. Communications were bad and trains didn't
run on schedule. Nobody could tell when our train would be moving. We waited
not knowing why it had stopped and when it would go on. The Soviet regime,
that pretends to supervise man in all his doings and prescribe his way of life
and thought, revealed itself in all its nakedness. Shiftlessness, lack of
concerted action and order were the hallmark of everything.

In the end, after many vicissitudes, we reached Vilna and felt much better.
Our brother received us well. We could wash and rest and sat down for a
regular meal at the table. Hope was again kindled in our heart. A few days
later my brother rented an apartment for us. We settled down and began to
live again. Temperatures went down to 25 degrees C. below zero. It was an
exceptionally cold winter. I did roadwork, which was hard, but we managed to
get by on it and support our morale and the will to endure. My comrades at
work were Polish scientists, professors, judges, senior officials and released
criminals. One had to queue up for the meager food rations and prices rose
from day to day. Our comfort under these difficulties was that maybe, from
Vilna we might escape abroad. Here I met Hannah Blum and her family. Welwel,
Beilis, Rivka Nagel (Mallakh). Our common birthplace, Rozhan, made us draw
together and we talked about our several plans.
Welwel Beilis had two sons and a daughter. The elder son, Moish'ke escaped to
Japan. Welwel began a trade in hides and had already a forged travel document
and was about to leave. Then, one Saturday morning, when I was going to work
in a driving rain, all wrapped up in my rags, I saw a truck standing before
Welwel's house and Russian police dragging him out, with his wife and son, and
beating them with their rifle-butts. The daughter was not with them. They
were exiled to Siberia and I pitied them and their lot, but owing to this they
got away with their lives, while the daughter was in the ghetto together with
me and later on was martyred in Slonim, where one of her relatives had taken
her expressly to save her. Those were the wondrous ways of those days.

Again in the Hands of the Nazis

June 1941. The Germans entered Vilna and imposed their Nazi regime aided by
the local Lithuanian population. For a few days nothing happened and we were
left alone. My brother kept his barber-shop open and the Lithuanians continued
their usual contact. Owing to this brother we had enough to eat. One day
under Nazi order Lithuanians surrounded our house and demanded the surrender of
gold and other valuables. The men were told to take soap and a towel and to
come with them. The women had to leave the apartments too, and they were asked
to surrender the keys to the doorkeepers. There was talk of concentrating the
Jews in one part of the town in a kind of open ghetto, but nobody knew where he
was being led and what his fate would be. The Polish doorkeeper of No. 14
Stephen Street, where my brother lived, went ahead with them part of the way.
When he returned he said, he had heard they were to be kept at Ponar for seven
days and then set free.

In fact, that day the Jews were made to dig pits - their own graves - and when
they had worked all day and their forces were spent, they were killed in the
very pits they had dug. To this day I don't know, what the doorkeeper meant by
his story; maybe he knew the truth and wanted to spare us. My brother was
among the first victims of Vilna-Ponar and then began the manhunts; everyday
the "catchers" passed through the ghetto streets, seizing people and
leading them to the Ponar for extermination. From six in the morning till six
at night they were at their job, apparently to fill the quota they had to hand
in. My father too fell victim to one of these manhunts.

I as a saddler was working for them. Because of this I got a pass and was able
to bring some food to my children. Until the ghetto was finally sealed, I used
to work on Plotzki Street for the Lithuanian mounted police and was reckoned as
a "highly useful Jew". When the ghetto was sealed off, the S.S.
officer in charge of the workshop tried to obtain a permit for me to leave the
ghetto, but he failed and I had to stay inside with the rest.

Our condition worsened from day to day. The manhunts became more and more
frequent and in one of them my mother, sister-in-law, two sisters and a cousin
were caught - may their memory be blessed. A Friday was the last day of their
lives. The hunt occurred near our house and they were in fact taken out of our
apartment.

I was saved by a marvel and this is how it happened: before the manhunt I
crossed from our courtyard to the neighboring one - through a gap in the fence
- I had heard that there was a secret vault there, where one could hide, and I
wanted to prepare a shelter for the family. However, the vault didn't look
right and I decided not to put the children in there for fear they might
smother even before we were detected. So I went back home and suddenly I saw
my wife running towards me with both children in her arms. So we ran together
and entered a room where many Jews were huddled together. There we stood
waiting for what we thought was inescapable death. Suddenly a door opened
close to the spot where I was standing and a hunchback peeped into find out
what all the hubbub was about. We all crowded into that room in panic and by
chance somebody moved a cupboard uncovering a secret door, through which we
passed to safety, the door closing behind us.

From the window I could see the miserable Jews who were being carried to the
Ponar. I could hear their desperate cries and wails as they were beaten while
being loaded on the trucks. I knew that my dearest were among them, but could
not rescue them.
In the evening we returned to our apartment, to life... Those who had been near
and dear to me had been sent to their deaths. I would never see them again and
yet we returned to live. My greatest care was food for the little ones.
Risking my life I slipped out of the ghetto to get something to eat for them
and so we carried on. It was a miracle that we managed to keep our two little
ones alive, while only the strongest and the rich remained hidden in bunkers in
the homes of Gentiles who demanded large sums for their help.

Miracles in the Ghetto

A couple of months later I was detailed to work in a sawmill. Rumors spread to
the effect that the whole ghetto was to be liquidated and only 20,000 Jews
would receive yellow cards and all the others would be exterminated. Some Jews
were "in the know" before the others. They had learned the contents
of the redeeming piece of paper and had them ready for themselves. The cards
were meant to be given to those whose profession was most required. I was
first in line to receive a card, but somebody on the Judenrat sold them to the
rich and I was left earmarked for extermination. At the time I was working in
a group of 30 Jews, among whom was a rabbi who survived and is now living in
Haifa. I was told that there was no card for me and that I was to stay in the
ghetto. I knew full well what that meant. Next day they would come, take
their victims and carry them off straight to the Ponar. So I ran to look for
that vault. I found an iron door behind which the "chosen", the
holders of the yellow cards, had hidden their families. I raised the door and
entered with my wife and children. There was general objection - but to no
avail. I pushed my family in. The air was stifling and our baby began to cry
heart-rendingly. Somebody taunted me: because of this baby we would all be
discovered and executed. They asked me to strangle her, lest she betray us. A
few of the younger ones attacked me, ready to murder me and my little daughter;
others, more educated ones, recoiled from murder, but began to try and convince
me: "Look here: you are still young, can have more children. If we do
not silence that baby, we are all lost, including yourself, your wife, and
children." They proposed to me to draw aside a little while they would
choke her. I began to cry like a child. My heart broke, could I let my child
be killed - but then, how could I endanger so many lives. My conscience smote
me and I nearly gave in and I was already being seized by the hand and dragged
aside and then I went mad. Some superhuman force possessed me. I shook them
off and flung them away and that very moment a miracle happened. The younger
people, who had been assailing me, apparently sensed danger and bolted to
escape from the cellar, while we were left behind. Next the Lithuanian murder
gang arrived and ordered everybody to step out. I was the last. I fought them
off one after the other and they left me, but then there was one who insisted
that I come out or else he'd shoot us on the spot. So we obeyed. It was dusk
when we walked down Spital Street towards the gates of death. I knew full well
where we were going, so we slipped away and entered Shawli lane; we climbed up
a flight of steps that had belonged to a house which was no longer standing.
It was a shambles, looked as after a pogrom. We reached the attic, in fact its
upper store, and there we lay down. We could see the Germans and their
Lithuanian tools roaming the streets, uncovering the hideouts here and there,
dragging Jews out, beat them up and kill them on the spot. The sight almost
drove us out of our wits. We knew they had scheduled three days for the
liquidation of the ghetto and this was only the first.

After six in the evening the street became quiet. Instincts prompted me to
stir among the ruins. I found matches and a thermos bottle. I stepped down
into the street and looked for a place to hide and shelter us. The house
bordered on the courtyard of our former dwelling place. I went down Spital
Street, where on the one side the Jewish hospital had been and on the other the
Jewish police. It was dark by now and one could see nothing. Suddenly I heard
footsteps on the opposite sidewalk: I cried out: "Hello! Can you hear
me?" It was a Jewish policeman, who was dumbfounded when he heard me
speaking Yiddish. Then he called back: "What're you doing here? Are you
mad? Gans will come and do for you!" I knew who Gans was and began to
cry and to beg. I told him of the tragedy in the cellar, how I had managed to
save my baby's life and I asked him to help me get her into the hospital -
maybe she would be safe there and for us, too, it would be easier to hide. He
refused, and only advised me to put her down at the gate - maybe passersby
would find and rescue her. I didn't accept his advice, wouldn't abandon her.
In the deep darkness I couldn't see the expression on his face: was he
softening or did he still insist? I entreated him and in the end he acceded
and went to the hospital to find out whether they could take her in. Meanwhile
I went back and brought my wife and children down from the attic. They had
already despaired from ever seeing me again.

Meanwhile the policeman came back and told me: "Give me the baby. Let's
see, something may be done." My wife went with him lest she begin to cry
and would have to be soothed. We couldn't even kiss her good-bye; from afar I
could hear the parting. Both my wife and our daughter were sobbing. She felt
she was giving up her dearest. When she returned we began to make plans where
to hide next.

We passed by the cellar of our misfortune and found a woman there under a pile
of rags. She came out and joined us. Next we returned to our house, beyond
the wall, where the Golomb family used to live. I heard some noises from below
the floorboards. I found the house empty but the pounding and noises were
distinctly audible. I found a large kitchen knife and pried loose two of the
boards and then something occurred which I shall never forget: clouds of vapor
arose from the opening I had made as if from a bath house - it was the pent-up
breath of the hideaways. Good God! How could they have been breathing down
there? These Jews had to be saved. Had they escaped death at the hands of the
Nazis only to die from asphyxiation, which is the most horrible form of death?

I tried to pry loose another board to widen the exit for them, but then one of
them climbed out and wanted to kill me for betraying them. I managed to
reassure him and the others and explained that I only wanted to conceal my wife
and child while I would stay outside and cover them up. I was dead tired,
covered the bunker and went to look for a hiding place for myself. I returned
to the courtyard, which served a number of houses with outhouses and coal
shacks. In one of these I decided to stay hidden overnight. I leaned a number
of boards obliquely against the wall and spent the night underneath them, like
a horse in its stall after a day's work. I stood staring into the empty
darkness, unable to think; only heaving a sigh of exhaustion and despair from
time to time. In the street I could hear the cruel shouts of the Lithuanians,
drunk with lust of murder. Even these didn't stir me. Suddenly I hard shouts
of joy from the drunkards and the desperate cries of a little girl of maybe,
ten: "Let me live! I am so small! Mercy! Let me go!" But they didn't.

For two days I was left standing hidden behind those boards and, when the three
days allotted to the annihilation of the ghetto came to an end, I crept out. I
ran straight back to my dear ones and opened the bunker. Again clouds of vapor
came forth and stifling smells, but nobody had died. They all climbed out and
began to settle again in their empty houses. I went to see my little girl in
the hospital. My heart was beating as a rumor had been spread that among the
many thousand victims there were also the inmates of the hospital. I found her
however alive - only her curly hair had been shorn.

In the Ghetto after Liquidation

We went back to our house on Spital Street. All those who had been hiding in
the bunkers were now back. Jews wanted to survive, were hoping for something.
However, we had no yellow cards and without these it was dangerous to be seen
in the streets. They also served as food coupons and with their help one might
find work and bread.

I strolled through the streets to get something to eat for my family. I saw
people who had bought their yellow cards and others who were selling them, as
they had been unable to obtain the cards they were entitled to. The Germans
were looking for skilled artisans and couldn't find any. Now they became aware
of the cheating but didn't do anything about it. They had to issue additional
"living certificates" that were now called "extra papers"
(Zugabe-Scheme). For these, too, you needed "pull". With great
difficulty I got one from the Jewish authorities for a bribe and ...because of
party affiliation. I sold a blanket and gave the money to somebody who was
employed by the S.S. and so, in the end, I obtained the cherished piece of
paper.

As I began to work I found ways to bring food home. I was employed in my own
profession on Politzker Street. I worked for the Lithuanian mounted police and
for the Germans who were quartered in the former Polish barracks there. With
me there was another elderly Jewish saddler, and a number of Jews, men and
women, were employed in various services. My situation was good. I received a
laissez-passer and was allowed to go by myself and not in a group led by a
"brigadier", as was the custom. I was able to take things from home
to the barracks, to sell them there and to buy victuals instead.

I had a round toolbox, with which I never parted, as it also served me as
"advertisement" of my trade. I had my working tools hanging outside,
while inside I used to keep other things. I also used to wear two pair of
trousers, the under one tied round the ankles, so that I could use them as bags
for potatoes or groats, while the upper pair served as camouflage. Flour I
used to carry in little bags, put as padding on my shoulders. The risk was
considerable, but I had no choice. At the ghetto gates they frisked people and
the Lithuanians enjoyed the double fun of their booty and the beating of the
victim the search would entail. Each time to enter the ghetto was like
entering Hell. As I could go to work and come back by myself, I sometimes hid
my stuff somewhere in order to save me the trouble. Sometime I even left
things valuable to myself and to the family at my place of work and came home
empty-handed.

The head of the mounted police, an S.S. Lieutenant, did his murderous job with
gusto. One day a horse got a bruise from the saddle, whereupon he called us to
report to him. We knew what was in store. We went in terror and bewilderment.
He asked: "What to do in such a case?" One of us took his courage
in both hands and said: "Must be padded above." That answer
maddened him and he shouted with all his might: "How do you talk? Don't
say 'above', above is only one - God; you should say 'higher up'" - and
then in the same breath: "Is there a God in this world or no?" So we
kept silent and he added with biting sarcasm: "How could there be a God?
It would be impossible for him to look on how you are tortured and do
nothing."

This time we got away unscathed. He left us the saddle to mend and stalked out.

My partner at work was a native of the place and had many acquaintances in the
villages around. He used to take pieces of leather from our workshop, bring
them to the peasants and, in exchange, would receive butter and eggs for his
family. One time a German sergeant, who used to search those who were
returning from work, met him in a village, and I saw how that German brute
killed my elderly mate, felled him to the ground and left him there. He never
touched me. I made him halters for his horses and sometimes gave him pieces of
leather, which he would sell when going on leave to Germany. He also brought
me pieces of cloth from his home in barter for items he wanted. He fairly
shielded me from all evil.

What I Saw and Heard in the Ghetto

Because of my profession, which was in great demand, I and others like me
enjoyed a privileged "status" in the ghetto. I was however
eyewitness to a number of cases - or heard of them at first hand from those
directly involved - and they left an indelible impression on me. I am going to
relate a few of them here. Early in 1943 the ghetto was sealed off and I, too,
could no longer leave it. The sergeant knew, that I had a cupboard in the
workshop where various items were locked in, and that I had the key. One
Monday he took me to the workshop to get the stuff out. However, we found the
cupboard broken in. The Lithuanians had carried off whatever had been there.
When I told him that I had left merchandise for barter in a number of villages
- on his account and on my own - he accompanied me there and had me collect the
produce for both of us under his protection. First we went back to the
barracks, where he gave me my fair share of the victuals and then he sent a
Lithuanian with me to the ghetto with a cart and gave him orders to drive
inside and not to leave me at the gate - so that I would not be searched. I
arrived laden with flour, groats, bread and potatoes, which kept us alive for a
couple of weeks.

In the ghetto the Germans heard of my skill as a craftsman, so they set me to
work to make warm galoshes of felt and leather for the Nazi soldiers. They
paid me some money and from the food they gave me I could spare some for my
family.

One day they took a group of people to work outside the ghetto. I, too, was in
that group and there I met Rivka Nagel (Mallakh). She was barefoot, had a
peasant woman's kerchief on her head and wore no yellow-rag on her clothes. So
I could see, that she had gone underground and was living in freedom outside.
I didn't talk to her, so as not to attract attention, but we both knew the
secret. I never saw her again.

A few days later after the ghetto was sealed off, rumors began to spread of
intentions to liquidate it, of quotas for forced labor and, finally,
extermination. One felt utterly helpless; yet, as long as we lived and somehow
found means to feed the children, we allayed our fears and tried to console
ourselves with all kinds of logical arguments; the whole thing doesn't stand to
reason. We have survived the liquidation; we are being useful; there is no
sense in destroying us - and other illusions and self-deceptions.

The truth was, however, that the extermination process went on all the time,
although only few people were aware of the fact. At one time partisans came in
and confirmed the fact; they had witnessed some cases. So the danger became
concrete and it was never out of mind. Two women and a girl joined us, who had
escaped from a death pit at the Ponar. They had hidden under a heap of corpses
and when the shooting ceased they climbed out of the pit, naked, picked up some
of the clothes that were lying around, and returned to the ghetto. So the
rumors were confirmed. The Jewish police isolated these women at once to
prevent the story from spreading - but the news was already known and all the
ghetto was seething.

There was talk of a delegation of partisans who came to see Gans (the head of
the Judenrat), told him that they were planning a rebellion, and asked him to
prepare his men for the event. They also revealed, that some of their people
and groups within the ghetto had hidden arms in one of the lanes. Gans was of
the opinion that a rebellion would achieve nothing. The Nazis and their local
helpers were too strong and there was no chance of overcoming them. He thought
that the best thing was to continue as before, in spite of more executions and
victims, in the end some would survive, while, in case of a rebellion the whole
ghetto would be wiped out. It was related that the delegates finally acceded
to this view. His arguments had convinced them and it was agreed on both sides
to encourage the escape in to the woods. For that the Jews had to find arms,
as the partisans would accept nobody who came with empty hands. Gans knew this
and undertook to find arms.

From then on Jews began to leave for the woods by tens, every day. This was an
unprecedented rescue operation and hundreds of people owe their lives to it -
but it did not last long. Among the last group of escapees there was a Pole,
whom the Jews had agreed to take with them out of pity and he turned traitor.
The night on which the group's departure was planned he did not turn up. He
had betrayed them. The Jews were arrested one by one and executed after
indescribable torture.

Final Liquidation of the Ghetto

It was the month of Elul 1943. Rumors were rife that the ghetto was to be
finally liquidated. As always, nobody could tell where these rumors
originated, but everybody knew there was good reason to believe them, and yet
people trusted that the end might be put off. The inhabitants of the ghetto
had seen so many "Actions", so they assumed it would be no more than
another.

One morning we were ordered to get ready to leave, as the ghetto was to be
terminated. We began to pack whatever we had in bundles. I prepared small
rucksacks for the children and then we went down into the cellar. However, the
memories of former experiences down there were frightening. So I ascended,
covered up those who were hiding downstairs and stayed outside with the members
of my family. Better trust on a chance miracle to happen than endure the
stifling air in the cellar. Later on I learned that I had been right and all
the others lost their lives. The bunker became their grave. Next day we were
led out to a siding, where those who were to be liquidated were assembled. We
passed a double row of soldiers armed with machine-guns and at the end we were
sorted out - those who were to die at once, and those who would have to endure
still more. That walk between the double wall of hatred was terrible.
Children were crying, the bundles were heavy, despondency and the feeling that
the end was near tagged at the nerves to breaking point. When we had covered a
distance of about one-kilometer, we were separated: men on one side and women
and children on the other. I wanted to take the boy with me and help him by
the hand, but a Lithuanian officer tore him away with a shout: the order was
that children had to follow their mothers. I never held the little hand again.
I never was to see my wife and my little daughter again.

That night even the skies wept and a pelting rain poured down while we were
standing between that double row without roof or shelter over our heads. The
desperate cries of the parting mingled with heart-rending wails of little
children who asked for some protection against the wet and the cold. We could
hear the children crying in spite of the distance between us and in spite of
the rain and wind, but we were unable to help them.

We were left at the siding for a whole day and night, waiting for what our
tormentors would do next. The Lithuanians exploited the darkness and our
miserable condition and they robbed us of our last belongings and the little
food we had prepared in our bundles. In the morning the Germans came to search
for "rebels" and took the members of the "Judenrat" with
them. I thought they were looking for skilled workers and ran after them
crying: "I am a craftsman, one of those you need." But meanwhile I
understood that again treason had been at play. There were indeed rebels
amongst us and they were handed over.

They were four men and a woman. The Germans hanged them in public, so that we
might see and be cowed. Therefore we all saw these heroes going to their
deaths. They mounted the platform with sure steps; each one put the noose
around his neck, with his own hands and then jumped off. I could see the scene
in all its details, as I was standing near the gate. If there is heroism in
man - here it was. None greater than this!

On the Road to Estonia

After the hangings they marched us to the railroad trucks that were kept ready
for us. We had to form columns and were urged forward with rifle-butts. Then
we were pushed inside the trucks and beaten all the while. The space became
overcrowded to an incredible extent and the small windows were hardly
sufficient to let the breath and sweat vapors out. In the middle of the car
there was a hole originally meant to sweep the cattle droppings and urine out;
now it had to serve human cattle and the stench became unbearable. One day at
dusk, when the train had been standing still for some time, it began to move in
a queer way and we felt that something must be the matter. Some of us climbed
up to the little windows that were barred with iron and barbed wire. We
realized then that the train did not move forward at all but was circling the
Ponar as if waiting for something. Amongst us, we had a young doctor aged
about 35, an unusually stout man. When he saw that the train kept close to the
Ponar he went mad and began to shriek: "Save yourselves as best you can!
Get away! Else they'll kill us all at the Ponar the same as they have murdered
all the others! We are at the Ponar and that means only one thing: death!"

Meanwhile he tried to get through that narrow opening which was impossible, but
it exemplified our miserable and desperate condition. Such a fat body trying
to squeeze itself through that small window, which was barred - all in terror
of death. We pulled him back, lest he push his head between the iron bars and
choke himself to death and if not for fear. The Germans might see him, take
this for an attempt to escape and then we all would have had to suffer. I too
thought of getting away, but not by way of the window. I planned to use the
opening in the floor but I hesitated for fear of hurting myself when falling
upon the sleepers of the railroad. I could not muster the courage to throw
myself down and stayed inside with the rest.

We were crowded together, aching, hungry and thirsty and when in need to
relieve ourselves we had to step over human bodies to reach the only hole in
the floor. Thus it went on for a couple of days until we reached Estonia. The
cities there received a quota of slave-labourers in return for faithful service
to the Nazis. At each stop a carload of slaves would be left behind while the
train moved on.

One morning, as we were standing in a station, we could see, by the window,
Jews who had arrived on a previous transport. Among them I recognized three
brothers from Vilna with whom I had been working at the students' house,
serving the Nazis who were quartered there. I approached the window in order
to talk to them and then I learnt that we were in Estonia. They had no
belongings at all and were all in rags and tatters. "They take away from
you everything." News of that kind we had met with so often.

In Kibiuli Camp, Estonia

A few days later the slaves were allotted to their Estonian masters. Finally
about 500 Jews were left in seven railroad trucks and nobody turned up to take
us. This was a very frightening situation, as, unless we were needed for
labor, we might - God forbid - be sent to extermination. For three days they
kept moving us around until we finally arrived at Kibiuli, where they had a
mine of selnitz as they called it, a kind of brown coal that was dug up and
sent to the factory as fuel.

We were unloaded with much cruel beating. Soldiers and Ukrainians, who had
been brought in to assist the Gestapo, stood ready for our reception. They
made us run over a long distance until, tired out we reached the Labor camp.
The harsh conditions there were a kind of relief to us. We felt better as we
were needed now for work and we had a new lease on life. In the camp we were
led into a courtyard, in military order thirty in a row, a distance of three
steps between the rows. We stood ready but no order to move was given. After
exhausting hours of standing and waiting we got the order: "Three steps
forward. Leave bundles where they are!" Only then, without our bundles
we were sent to our barrack blocks, divided into groups one to each hut. We
never got our bundles back.

Next day we were sorted out for labor. We were asked if anyone of us knew
German, and as Tripilevits did, he was appointed "camp elder" and saw
to it that we received food rations. Two big cauldrons were set up to provide
hot food. Eighty women were there, who had been picked up and brought to
Estonia before the liquidation and they did the work in the improvised kitchen.
Food was not bad. A loaf of bread for three working persons. This was not
given for any humanitarian reasons but only to keep people fit to do their job.

We used to work in the factory, dig trenches for defense or do other kinds of
hard work. Hardest of all was the pushing of the cinder lorries. The brown
coal left a great amount of ashes and we had to run in order to keep us with
the clearing. The cinders piled up in heaps and we used to erect platforms
from which the lorries might then glide down to be emptied. The cinder heaps
used to slip and were stopped by the corpses of Jews who had been shot on
various occasions and were left here to serve as barriers. We know this and
had to behave as if these horrors were nonexistent.

For eight months we stayed there. The Kibiuli camp was the "best" in
all Estonia. We had rabbis and doctors. We had a Tora-scroll and prayed in a
"Minyan" every day and read the weekly portion. Our food was Kosher
and under the circumstances that was a great comfort. It was a boon to know
that we were able to maintain our Jewishness. Food was sufficient. There were
two brothers among us, gangsters from the underworld. They were employed in
transportation and could bring some additional victuals for all the inmates of
the camp. And finally there was Tripilevitz, the camp elder, the soul of
honesty, who gave his loving care to any and everyone. All these circumstances
combined to make the Kibiuli camp better than others and we though it might go
on until the day of freedom would dawn. However, as the Russians began to
advance to the west, the labor camps near the Russian border were wound up and
we, too, had to move west.

The last days in the camp were days of unforgettable horror. Germans from
camps that had been closed down were transferred to ours and here they let fly.
Tripilevits lost his former connections and he, too, came under attack.
Conditions worsened from day to day and sometime we were on the verge of
despair. We felt that our foe was near his downfall, but the heart was full of
doubt whether we'd live to see that day. Meanwhile we got hold of a radio and
received underground newspapers, so we heard of the events on the world scene
and of the situation on the war front. The teacher Tabatchnik and his brother
used to listen to the news at night and in the morning they would tell us what
they had heard or read. We knew that the end of the Nazis was drawing near.
We were waiting for the Day of Liberation and our patience grew thin. We
thought that before long we would be rescued from the hell we were in and set
free. Tortures and humiliations became unbearable, yet as time went on new
troubles arose with ever increased and refined cruelty.

Among the Jews there were Dr. Volkovsky, Shoshkes and another man, whose name I
forget. They would carouse with the Germans and, when spirits were high, they
tried to secure all kinds of alleviation and promises for us. Once when they
were thus sitting together and talking over their meat and drink, one of the
Jews said to the Germans: "You are near the end of you tether. The
wicked among you and their helpmates will be punished, but you are our friends
and benefactors. We shall speak for you and save you."

The German medical orderly overheard this and told the Gestapo, who began to
watch Shoshkes and the doctor. They also changed their attitude towards
Tripilevitz. Next day a German doctor, a Dr. Bitman, arrived instead of the
Jewish doctor and the new man decided to sort out the Jews and separate the
weak from those who were fit for work. He arranged for a parade and passing
between the ranks selected about 10% and ordered them to step aside. When the
first 20 had thus been set aside and handed over to the guards, some Jews made
use of an opportunity arising when the guards attention was averted and
rejoined the ranks. Bitman remarked this. His lust of murder boiled over and,
breaking into the first ranks, he seized some 25 young men indiscriminately and
murdered them.

On the same occasion hundreds of Jews were "selected" for certain
death. They were transferred to the military camp and held there all night.
Among them were Dr. Volkovsky and Shoshkes. Tripilevits was still with us, but
under house arrest. That was an unforgettable night of horror. We knew
perfectly well what would happen to those who had been taken away and it was
anybody's guess what was in store for us.

In the morning Tripilevits was still in charge of the daily parade. He knew it
was his last. The Nazis had told him that those who had been removed were
being sent elsewhere and he would be with them and let them "partake of
his valuable experience". Tripilevits was dressed in his best white
overcoat and white trousers and we just stood there and wept. We knew what
would befall him and our hearts ached at his innocence. But he surprised us.
While leading the parade he told us: "Dear friends and brothers, Fellow
Jews! Why do you regard me with such sorrow and bewilderment? I put on my
burial clothes in time. Don't be sorry for me. What must happen - will
happen, and what happens must happen." We had loved him very much and
wept like children when we saw him go fully conscious to his death.

After the parade he was taken to the other camp and together with those
selected the day before he was carried to a little wood and there they were
murdered one after the other. We had spoken with the victims and asked them to
leave notices on the trucks to tell us of every detail. When the trucks came
back, we found some slips of paper and learned that some Jews had assailed the
Germans and tried to kill them. But the Germans, who were heavily armed, had
overcome them and shot them on the trucks. Their blood was spattered all over
the trucks, soaked into the boards and defiled them forever. The papers also
related how the Nazis had torn out gold dentures from their victims' mouths
while they were still breathing.

Ovens to Burn Jews near Danzig

A few days later it was our turn. Ships had been ordered to carry us to
Danzig. In the port it was said, that no ships were available as the army
needed them. So we were sent back to a rather distant camp and from there they
again asked for ships. Two days later some ramshackle transport boats arrived
and in these we were carried to Stutthof near Danzig. When they let us down
from the ships into the rotten boats, which awaited us in the port at some
distance from the quay, we thought they wanted to drown us on the spot. In the
end we arrived in port fainting from thirst and exhausted. We ran for the
puddles of foul water on shore and lapped the water up avidly - and the will to
live revived.

From Stutthof they took us to a nearby concentration camp as bad, as if not
worse, than Auschwitz. The incinerators were working at full
"capacity". Poles were in charge of the operations and did their job
with all the pig-headedness and sadism typical of them. Bloodthirsty criminals
entered the buildings and dragged out the Jews to be burned. On the way the
victims were beaten with axe handles and the blood spattered all around. We
were told we would have to pass a general cleaning and disinfection and this
would be done in the bathhouse. Those who had been here before told us that in
the bath-house people were stripped of everything from valuables to clothing,
and we in a fit of madness began to bury in the ground whatever we had: gold,
rings, watches, and also prayer shawls and Tefillin (phylacteries) so as not to
have them fall into the unclean hands of the Poles.

We proceeded to the bathhouse under a hail of blows. We were allowed to take
with us one day's bread ration - to this day I don't know what for. In the
bathhouse we were stripped naked, while the Poles all the time urged us on with
blows to hurry, hurry. We had an ice cold bath and then we were told to crawl
on all fours onto a table and so standing as cattle, every hair on our bodies
was shaved off; this was done with a blunt razor, so that the hair was almost
pulled out with the skin. Next came the searches after diamonds or gold and
they were thorough. They pressed their fingers into every cavity of the body
causing acute pain with ever-increasing cruelty.

I managed to escape this ordeal. I was in the middle of the line and when I
saw this shameful torture I took the risk and slunk away. Better die at once
than undergo this prolonged ordeal. I was so excited that I even threw away
the piece of bread I had been holding in my hand until the last.

After the bath we were given "official clothes": a kind of
nightshirt, drawers and slippers. The Poles chose to hand tall people narrow
clothes and vice versa. When looking at each other we broke into hysteric
crying, mixed with spasmodic laughter. It was heaping insult on injury. The
slippers were studiously unfitting and either two left or two right ones. The
adroit ones would throw the slippers into a heap and pick out what they needed.
When I did the same a Pole found me out, approached me and beat me senseless.
I was bleeding in rivulets. With great difficulty I got away from him. We
were housed in wooded huts where the only "furniture" was four tiered
bunks with four people to each tier - the space being, of course, insufficient.
The procedure of going to sleep was barbarous. The Poles in charge of the
huts (Shtubovy) used us of performances. We had to undress within two minutes,
to arrange our clothes on a bench, to jump on the bunks and to fall asleep at
once. The weaker ones, who did not manage to jump up fast enough, were pushed
aside and the Poles would beat up stragglers mercilessly. Then they would pull
down those who had already stretched themselves out and beat them up for
pushing aside the weaker ones.

In the morning there were similar scenes, only in inverted sequence. One had
to jump off the bunk, snatch up the clothes - which would be mixed up on
purpose - within seconds all under a hail of blows and abuse. Once a day we
got a mess of weeds, nettles and other plants. We were supposed to get ten
kettles of coffee, but the Poles gave us only four, while the rest was shared
out to those they "favoured".

From nine in the morning we waited for work, milling around, left to our own
devices, which was the most awful humiliation. A few "fortunate"
ones were sent to work in the forest, but they came back scratched and bruised,
so that there was no reason to envy them. Those fit for work were selected at
a special parade: we had to pass between two barbed wire fences and all the
time received blows left and right.

One day an orderly came running like mad and announced that saddlers were
required. This didn't occur in my block and I didn't hear of it. But one of
our Polish tormentors, one Weychorek, a native of Rozhan and a bad drunkard who
in our home-town had served as a "shabbes-goy", remembered and when,
next day, they asked again for a saddler, he gave my name and together with
four more Jews I was sent to work in my profession. First thing they asked me,
if I could make harness fit for thoroughbred horses - if not, they told me,
they'd kill me like a dog. The question was put to me by the commander of the
camp himself, a criminal released from prison, where he had served a sentence
for the murder of his wife and two children. Next to him stood the Rapport
Fuehrer (Sergeant Major or Record Keeper) and other Gestapo men to whom he gave
strict orders: "The block wardens shall give this Jew what he needs: tool
and material and let him set to work."

It was now the end of Elul (the last month before the High Holidays) when one's
frame of mind is apt to be gloomy anyway. I was afraid and near despair. I
hurried to the block warden for tools and material, but he had nothing. In the
end he collected a hundred and twenty leather belts. I asked for additional
material for the collar lining that has to be broader than a belt. I had to
make myself a workbench and some kind-hearted Jew at the locksmith's shop made
me a cobbler's knife and the rings and buckles I needed and so I set to work.

Time and again I applied to the block-warden for more leather, but in vain. He
also disregarded the order to give me decent food and a place to sleep in the
shower room. Two days later the commander came in and realized that I knew my
job and had already made some progress and from then on he began to take me
seriously. He asked if I had enough to eat and at once called in the block
warden Kostak, told him off scathingly and gave him orders to supply me the
best food available and fulfill all my demands.

The End of the Nazis is Near

By and by we felt a wind of change in camp. Something was in the offing. We
could see that the stronger ones were transferred to other labor camps while
the weaker ones - myself among them - were left behind. We could guess what
our fate would be and looked for ways to slip away. One day, when the Jews of
Riga, who had arrived recently and were not yet worn down, were being sent
away, I joined their ranks. Naturally I didn't tell the camp commander. So
together with these Jews of Riga, I reached the German town of Magdeburg, where
we were sent to work in artillery munitions plant. My place was in the
division where the shells were treated with acids to prevent rust.

By then the Allies were approaching Magdeburg and began to bomb the city.
Thousands of planes dropped their bombs and we were afraid to perish on the
very eve of liberation and at the hands of friends. Now the Nazis made us put
up barricades out of the debris of destroyed houses. Even when their downfall
was imminent they treated us with their usual cruelty. We had to work without
food and were beaten up all the time. The bomb attacks caused disorder, but
one could not just slip off and disappear. We would scatter and run for
shelter, but as soon as the attack was over they would again assemble us.
Until the very end they would not let us go. We were the only joy left in
their inhuman existence. They already knew that they were lost, and yet they
wouldn't forego the pleasure of mistreating us.

On the occasion of one of these "exercises" I was left alone hidden
under a pile of boards on a railroad siding. It was Thursday and I remained
there until the following Sunday. From my hideout I could hear that the S.S.
had again entered the camp and were ordering the Jews to come out in order to
be transferred "elsewhere". On that Friday many of those who were to
be sent "elsewhere" and among them many young people were killed.

On Sunday they detected me and one other Jew in our hideout, brought us to the
camp and made us stand facing the wall. Apart from us there were other Jews,
who had been brought in. When we were several dozen we were told to form a
column and to march off. This time our guards were Hungarians, with rifles
pointed at us. It was already dark when we entered a little wood and many
began to melt away between the trees. The Hungarians fired and shouted:
"where are you running to? We are taking you to a place of safety."
Nobody would believe them, but it was true. We reached a little town by the
name of Alt-Grabow and there we were sorted out. It was a medley of all
nationalities and now, suddenly, we, the Jews, became very important people.
Anybody who professed himself "Jude" was received with great honor.

By and by we discovered why we had become so very important. The Germans, who
now were aware of their condition and their chances, were eager to surrender to
the Western allies instead of falling into Russian hands. We were to serve
them as witnesses of their good behavior, as proof that they had saved us from
the Nazis.

Fate willed it otherwise. Three days later the Russians arrived. We were set
free, while all the Germans, the Nazis as well as their followers, fell into
their hands.

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